


The Lost Ark

by kilaem



Series: Art Shorts [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fanart, Indiana Jones Raiders of the Lost Ark, M/M, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 08:11:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17763041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kilaem/pseuds/kilaem
Summary: indiana jones au, originally posted on tumblr





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dexterous_Sinistrous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/gifts).



> i'm transferring my art aus from tumblr to ao3 just in case so i don't lose the writing portions because that would be such a bitch to deal with. originally posted 12/05/2016

It’s a name Derek hasn’t heard in a long time. A name he’s tried to forget about, only now to be told that finding them is of the utmost importance. _Stilinski_. It had been rumours really, the only thing that he could go off of, especially after not speaking to them for ten years. A dear friend, a mentor, some of the only people he would call family. And he ruined _that_ , too.

It’s at the forefront of his mind as he’s boarding the plane, the memory of the relics he’d seen with his own eyes, the memory of how he had left because he couldn’t stand to see the heartbreak when they were discovered and forbidden. Derek knows what he’s looking for, _who_ he’s looking for, to find Johnathan. Derek knows he should worry about other things, but he can’t. He won’t, until he sees him.

He can worry about the rest when he’s closer to finding it.

* * *

Stiles is drunk. No, he’s beyond drunk. The taste of the vodka stopped burning his throat years ago. The smell of booze is soaked into the woodwork, the first thing he smells in the morning and the last thing he smells at night. His head is throbbing from the noise, the constant cold of the snowy mountains, the roaring fire in the tavern.

The customers have finally all left, leaving him to pick up all the glasses and clean up. He stashes the money he’s won, closing his eyes for a brief moment to try and focus his head. It’s as he’s picking up the shot glasses that he sees the silhouette on the wall.

“Hello, Stiles.”

His head is spinning as he turns around to see Derek Hale standing there in all his glory, his stupid hat still perched atop his head. There’s a smash as the shot glasses that were in his hands hit the ground, and he can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up in his chest. Stiles wipes his hands together, almost a mockery of a clap.

“Derek Hale… I always knew someday you’d come walking back through my door. I never doubted that.” Stiles smiles, bitterness rises up in his chest as he watches Derek grin. Stiles approaches him, trying to clamp down on the swelling rage that blooms at seeing his face again, still practically the same, only a few lines and a few grey hairs in his beard that show the difference of the years passed. “Something made it inevitable. So what are you doing here in Nepal?”

“I need one of the pieces your father collected,” he demands lowly, but it’s all he can say before Stiles’ fist connects with his chin.

It’s a combination, really. The lack of inhibition from the alcohol, the strong wave of emotions swarming through him, the loneliness from the years all surging together, still wanting him, only to find he didn’t come for Stiles.

“I learned to hate you in the last ten years,” Stiles snaps, his fist aching.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Derek quietly admits, unable to meet Stiles’ eyes.

“I was a child! I was in love!” Stiles yells, thinking back to when he was seventeen. Seventeen to Derek’s twenty three, desperate for the attention that Derek had given him, only for it to all be snatched away without a word. “It was wrong and you know it!”

“You knew what you were doing,” Derek argues, bringing back Stiles’ words from that time. It only makes Stiles want to punch him again.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, turning away from him to continue cleaning up. “Well, I do now. Get the fuck out of my place.”

“I did what I did, you don’t have to like it,” Derek fights, trailing his movements. “But… Maybe we can help each other out now. I can help you get back to the states if you give me what I need.”

Stiles sighs, his hands shaking as he places glasses on his tray. He has no choice but to help, especially if it means going back. “What piece was it?”

“A bronze medallion, with a crystal in the centre. Do you know it?”

“Yeah, I know it,” Stiles answers, his stomach churning. The weight of it sitting against his sternum, the last reminder he has of his father–one of the only things he couldn’t bring himself to sell to try and go home. He couldn’t bring himself to part with it, and he didn’t know if he could now.

The silence stretches on, Derek watching him as he works. Stiles knows what’s coming, his jaw tight as he waits.

“Where’s your father?”

“He’s dead,” Stiles answers eventually, trying to block it from his mind. There was no body to be found at the last dig he was on, out of all the dead there, but he hadn’t come for him afterwards. Stiles had searched and searched the entire site, but he had been the only one they couldn’t locate from all the team. It’s the only option Stiles has been able to think of for all the years stranded in Nepal, no money, no family, no way to get back to America.

“Stiles… I’m sorry,” is what comes out.

It brings Stiles to a halt, his head shaking in denial as tears bite at his eyes. He’s too drunk for this. He turns his head to the ceiling, closing his eyes to the memories. Of when he had Derek, of when his father was alive. He can feel Derek’s eyes on him, but he knows it’s not in admiration or longing. It would be pity, surely. Derek left him, Stiles knew where they stood. “Do you know what you did to me and my life?”

“I can only say I’m sorry so many times,” Derek replies, his voice strained.

“Well say it again anyway,” Stiles shouts, turning away from Derek.

There’s a pause, and Stiles thinks he’s won.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says again, just as quietly as before.

Stiles tries to shut down the hope inside of him, reminding himself that it’s pointless. “Everybody is sorry about something.”

“Stiles, the medallion? It’s important.” Derek grabs his arm, his eyes just as intense as they were ten years ago. Stiles refuses to be lost in them, this time.

He tries not to, he can honestly say he tries not to, but his eyes still drift to Derek’s lips. “Come back tomorrow.”

“Why?” Derek asks, leaning close.

“Because I said so, that’s why,” Stiles answers with a smug grin.

Derek nods, backing away slowly. He doesn’t say goodbye, but Stiles doesn’t miss the look in his eyes. He takes satisfaction in throwing Derek’s words back at him from all those years ago, the way his shoulders tense at the reminder.

“See you tomorrow, Derek Hale.”


	2. Chapter 2

The markets were bustling around them, and Derek couldn’t stop his smiles. After so long, and finally having Stiles beside him… It felt like a dream. He could feel Stiles’ animosity towards him at times, but there were other times when Stiles would forget to hate him, forget that ten years old hurt, and treat him with a laugh or a smile.

Derek would never tell him why he really left without a word, how much he had missed him, how he had ached for him after all that time. He knew Stiles would never forgive the memory of his father if he discovered that he had been the one to make Derek leave. He knew that after the Ark, he would go to the site that Stiles spoke of. He loved his son more than life itself– Derek couldn’t imagine John willingly leaving Stiles, even with his obsession for archaeology.

“Do we need the monkey, huh?” Derek teased, his heart swelling at the sight of Stiles dissolving into stifled giggles when the Capuchin chattered next to his ear.

“I’m surprised at you, Hale,” Stiles grinned, reaching up to reposition her. “How could you talk that way about our baby?”

The wide grin he sent Derek gives him butterflies, and it doesn’t come to any surprise to Derek that only Stiles could make him feel so giddy. The only other time he feels so breathless is when he’s been running for his life on a dig or a find gone wrong.

“She’s got your looks too,” Stiles says, shooting him a smirk.

“And your brains,” Derek retorts, his smile growing at the sound Stiles behind him makes in return.

“Yeah, she’s a smart little thing,” is Stiles’ playful answer, before there’s a noise of concern. “Hey, where are you going?”

It immediately makes Derek turn, and the Capuchin jumps off of Stiles’ arm to the ground, darting around the feet of the people in the crowd. Derek looks back at him, confusion and hurt etched on his face as he watches their new friend leave. Something in Stiles’ eyes makes Derek’s heart break, realising suddenly he’s watching someone else leave him–that he’s always the one to be left alone.

Derek makes a silent promise to Stiles that he won’t be abandoned again.

“She’ll be alright,” Derek comforts, taking his arm to lead him away. “Stiles… Come on.”

“Okay,” Stiles vacantly nods, accepting the date Derek passes him. “What’s this?”

“It’s a date. You eat it.”

Derek doesn’t let himself show any outward response to Stiles twining their fingers together, but he knows that Stiles can see the way his lips pull up into a small smile. They walk around for a long while, the blazing sun beating down on them.

“How come you haven’t found some nice girl to settle down with, raise eight or nine kids like your friend?” Stiles asks quietly, gently squeezing Derek’s hand.

“Who says I haven’t?” Derek says defensively, before wanting to hit himself.

“I do,” Stiles laughs. “Dad had you figured out a long time ago. He said you were a bum.”

“He was being very generous,” Derek grins, forcing down the memory of his hardened face telling him to leave.

“The most gifted bum he ever trained,” Stiles continues. “You know, he loved you like a son. Took a hell of a lot for you to alienate him.”

“Not much,” Derek admits quietly. “Just you.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, but Derek feels his fingers slip out of his grip. Derek closes his eyes at his mistake, but then everything seems to happen so fast. Too many people, too many ways to get lost and separated–and then the heat of the explosion is the only thing Derek can feel, a harsh lump in his throat that he can seem to swallow down and his eyes burning with the tears.

Stiles was gone, and Derek couldn’t protect him. He didn’t even get to say that he loved him.


	3. Chapter 3

So much had happened. The Ark had been such a sight to marvel, to know it was  _real_ , but Derek could never forget the relief he felt at finding Stiles alive–bound and gagged, but still  _alive_. He hadn’t even given it a thought, kissing him in relief, holding him close, only to spew out his apologies when he re-tied the gag around him so they wouldn’t know Derek was in the area, leaving him only with a promise to be back to get him.

That hadn’t gone as planned, either.

He could still feel the trembling itch under his skin after being locked in the chamber with all those snakes–of trying to calm Stiles as they found a way out. He had never done well in closed in spaces without some way to see the outside, Derek knew. It’s why he hated his dad’s obsession, for the most part.

But he had done it. They had the Ark boxed up and safe on the merchant ship. He could finally rest, let his body shut down for a while.

* * *

Stiles had other plans. The captain of the ship had been kind enough to give them his cabin, and Stiles took advantage of his kindness to get the first aid kit from him.

Stiles knew that Derek thought he hadn’t seen his bullet grazed bleeding arm, the gravel rash from a stunt that the idiot had probably deemed necessary at the time. Not to mention the fight at the plane. He needed patching up, and Stiles would take care of him.

After everything, Stiles knew he couldn’t still pretend he hated him.

Derek groaned as soon as he saw Stiles holding the kit, but he was struggling to take his damned  _shirt_ off.

Stiles winced at Derek’s bitten off whimpers when he tried to help, when he tried to move his legs onto the bed.

“I don’t need any help,” Derek gritted through his teeth.

“Yes, you do,” Stiles argued, pressing the antiseptic into his wound, knowing Derek would fight him if he had been prepared. Derek yelps, and Stiles relents, guilt flooding him. “Derek, please let me help you.”

He’s silent for most of the time, wincing when Stiles touches one of his more tender spots as he covers the worst of them in gauze.

“Would you  _stop_?” Derek eventually snaps, Stiles rearing back on instinct.

“Fucking Christ, Derek, where  _doesn’t_ it hurt?!” He yells in return.

Derek growls at him, his eyes hard, before he lifts his arm and points petulantly at his elbow. “Here!”

Stiles can’t help his smirk, leaning down to kiss the spot he’s pointing to. Derek’s expression fades, his eyes shining as they trail over him, his lips parting as he stares.

“Here,” Derek says again, pointing to his temple.

Stiles smiles, shaking his head, but he gently pulls Derek’s hat from his head, tossing it to the side before he leans down. His skin is so warm under Stiles’ lips, but Stiles won’t push. Not after everything they’ve been through, not after their history.

“Here,” Derek breathes against the skin of Stiles’ neck, pointing to his cheek.

Stiles leans further down, gently running his lips over the bruised skin of Derek’s cheek.

There’s a moment of silence, before Derek points to his pale lips. “Here?”

Stiles’ lips part in a smile, their noses brushing softly before their lips touch. It starts out soft, slow, them testing the waters, before it picks up, Derek leaning up into his touch, his calloused hands skimming Stiles’ hips as he tries to hold on.

Derek’s nose presses against Stiles’ cheek, and Derek’s tongue swipes against his bottom lip–a soft moan escapes Stiles, but when he leans in for more, Derek’s head falls back against the pillow.

“Derek?” Stiles asks quietly, only for him to be met with silence. He can’t stop the sigh that escapes him, taking the moment to memorise his peaceful sleeping face, bruised as it is. “We never seem to get a break, do we?”


	4. Chapter 4

The ropes binding them were tight–far too tight for Derek to find a way to slip out of without hurting Stiles bound behind him. He can feel him shaking, can hear his hitching breath as Kate recites over the Ark.

Derek tries to twist his hand to hold Stiles’, but the angle is all wrong and all it does is give him rope burn.

If anything, Derek is thankful that he has Stiles beside him. He had tried to save him, just  _take_ Stiles and leave, but his desire to see the discovery had been too great. Stiles had barely said a word to him, but Derek couldn’t see any loathing in his eyes after he made the decision.

To die beside Stiles, it was the best death he could hope for. But to have Stiles die? Derek would never forgive himself because of it. He wonders if Stiles regretted his demands to join him as a partner–the tavern in Nepal burning behind them.

It strikes a chord in his memory to before he left, uncomfortable in a suit and lugging maps and books around campus all day, glasses perched upon his face. Hearing the name  _Stilinski_ for the first time in years, a name that felt forbidden to Derek. The artwork in the old bible they had, the light beaming out, the bodies discarded and broken around it. A warning they didn’t believe.

“ _Lightning. Fire. The power of God. Take your pick,_ ” Derek had said.

The electrics around them burst, guns misfiring, and Derek’s heart feels like it’s up in his throat, slamming his own eyes shut. “Stiles, don’t look at it,” Derek demands. “Shut your eyes!”

“Derek–” Stiles tries, but he has to  _live_.

“No matter what happens, Stiles, don’t look at it. Keep your eyes closed. Promise me!”

“I– I won’t,” he agrees, before the angry shouts reach their ears.

They can’t hear what they’re arguing over, but then the voices go silent. It’s eerie, the sounds that begin to echo, like they’re whispers in the dark of night.

They can hear the awe, but then the screaming starts. Derek clenches his eyes shut tighter, feeling a chill run down him, urging him to open his eyes, to  _look_ , to  _see_ what’s inside, before the heat explodes around them.

It feels endless, circling them forever, before the screams eventually taper off, the roaring of the fires around them slowly fading and a loud thud going straight through them.

The silence is deafening, an unnatural stillness settling over them. Derek pries his eyes open, prepared for the carnage–but they were all gone. Not a trace of anyone, and all the air in his lungs rushes out of him so quickly he feels winded by it.

“…Stiles?” Derek asks, turning towards him, shoving the burnt and snapped ropes out of the way.

He cups Stiles’ face, unable to stop himself from touching, to feel the truth that they were alive.

Stiles’ eyes open slowly, his chest heaving as he takes in the same knowledge. “Derek…”

Derek pulls him into a tight hug, tucking his face into Stiles’ neck. They were safe. 


	5. Chapter 5

Derek was furious. After everything that had happened, after how many times he had nearly died, still never receiving a straight answer. **  
**

“Where is the Ark?” He demands again.

“I thought we’d settled that,” the first agent sighs. “The Ark is somewhere very safe.”

“From whom?”

“The Ark is a source of unspeakable power and it has to be researched,” Derek’s superior argued, not listening to Derek’s original proposal of it being destroyed.

“And it will be,” the second agent nods, seeming reassured in thinking they were accepting such a blatant lie. “I can assure you, we have top men working on it right now.”

“Who?”

They hadn’t answered that, either. It had been Stiles’ voice that calmed him, the sound of his frantic footsteps as he followed him down the stairs, desperate to catch his fast pace.

“Hey, what happened?” Stiles asks, pulling him to a halt. “You don’t look very happy.”

“They’re fools. Bureaucratic fools,” Derek sneers, looking back at the door he exited from.

“What’d they say?” Stiles asks, his eyes trailing over Derek’s face.

“They don’t know what they’ve got in there,” Derek shakes his head, torn between wanting to fight it more or just giving in that it was officially out of his hands.

“Well, I know what I’ve got here,” Stiles grins, reaching up to tip Derek’s hat back to see his eyes. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Derek feels himself smile against his better judgement, unable to resist Stiles for anything. He bit down on his grin when he felt Stiles link his arm through Derek’s, leading him down the stairs. 

Derek knew he wouldn’t be able to get rid of him this time, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

 

* * *

bonus no hat: 

 


End file.
